


How to get longer hair when your teammate despises long hair

by Anonymous



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Gen, Headcanon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:23:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22098115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: About one of the game's oldest "hat"
Relationships: Demoman & Soldier (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17
Collections: Anonymous





	How to get longer hair when your teammate despises long hair

**Author's Note:**

> Cw no handwashing (loool), because from the bottom of my heart, I think that only Heavy, Engie, and Spy would wash their hands after peeing lol. But this fic it's *not* about that...!

Demo and Soldier were hanging around the base one afternoon, with not much to do. After a quick visit to the urinals, Demoman went to look at himself in the mirror that covered a good section of the wall, followed by Soldier. Demo took his beanie off, passing a hand over his head.

“Ach, my hair is dry.”

The last time Demo applied a moisturizer in his hair as his mum and da taught him (and let it rest below a shower cap for a while)... He couldn’t even remember how long it’d been.

Demoman groaned. Meanwhile, Soldier was taking a not so dissimulated look at Demo’s trimmed curly hair.

“I don’t see that.”

“What would ye know, having your greasy hair under that helmet always.”

“That’s not...!” Soldier took his helmet off, to glare his self-made buzz-cut. After looking for a few seconds he grumbled, and placed his helmet back in his head.

“_Maybe_ you’re right.”

“_Maybe?_ Ha!” Demo exclaimed. “It seems we have the opposite problems...”

“If the haircut is short, it’s okay. I do not see any problem at all.” Soldier lifted up the helmet a bit. “Except that I need to wash my hair,” he added with a sotto voice.

Instead of continuing to argue with Soldier, Demoman kept contemplating his face and hair. With his index he pulled the eyelid of his good eye further down, a gesture that he almost always did when in front of a mirror.

“Why are you thinking so much?” Soldier asked impatiently, wanting to leave the restroom already.

“Hmm...”

Rather than focusing on his lack of one eye for once in his life, Demoman had been desiring to let his hair grow longer since a while. He wanted to show off a handsome fro for at least a limited time, maybe during Autumn to Winter if possible—A bloody desert was probably far from ideal for longer afro hair in any case. It wasn’t only the desert heat and the wind with sand the only problems though. He evoked that the last time he grew his hair longer (before joining the team), it lasted until an explosion burned a good amount of it. Demo could even remember the smell of burned hair when thinking in that past mishap.

“Do you know if the medigun grows hair?” inquired Demoman. He wasn’t going to lose anything by doing that.

Soldier kept silent, thinking in an answer.

“Besides putting out fire, I’m sure it heals both skin and hair.” Soldier took a step closer to the mirror. With his right, he lifted the helmet once again, rubbing his brow on the same side. He pursed his lips briefly while looking at the mirror, perhaps thinking in past burn wounds. “I think once even grew back Sniper’s stupid mullet.”

Demoman chuckled. “I see...”

So, he could let his hair grow. It would take awhile, not a very short time. On the other hand, Soldier would notice eventually.

Demo wondered, how could he convince Soldier to let him keep longer hair? In another way that _didn’t_ include fighting with him.

He could try to persuade Soldier by explaining that it was something important for him, and for others, to be truly honest. Even if he was a Black scot in America, he was aware of what was going on outside the Badlands each day (and it wasn’t just an american thing anyway). Mostly from the TV, sometimes talking with other people—mostly his hairdresser that only knew about Demo’s _other_ jobs, who constantly complained about the mercenaries ruining everything, wanting to leave to another state, when he wasn’t complaining. Demo was sure he could convince Soldier, as long he argued that it wasn’t a “hippie crap”, that it was, something different.

Demoman slapped his cheeks with both hands, stretching his skin down.

“Something is wrong?”

It was likely for Demo that Soldier would always think it was hippie crap. Soldier, whose mindset was stuck in the 50s, considered that even disco culture was something hippie _(“they should be working!”)._

Unless.

Demo turned around to face Soldier, with a grin on his face. “Soldier!”

“What?” replied back. “Can we leave here? It smells, it wasn’t Scout turn to...?”

“What would you think if I let my hair grow?” said so fast that it was almost unintelligible.

“What?! No—” Soldier frowned. He was immediately interrupted again.

“But don’t ye like my hair?” Demo attacked with question after question.

“I—”

“It would look, cloudy! and, uh... round!” Demoman grasped his chin. “As long I don’t let coils form alone...” he slowed down, divaguing.

“_...What?_”

Demoman paused, peering at Soldier. Of course Soldier was thinking literally what Demo just said. Demoman was trying to use words that Soldier would know. He wanted him to understand that all what he wanted was a well-kept hair, not a hippie white mane growing below his shoulders (with flowers and other type of shite tucked-in).

“I’m tryin’ to say that my Da used to wear a fro below his beret...”

Soldier shrugged, untensing finally. Not only that, Demo knew that Soldier was listening.

He also knew it was a cheap way to plead Soldier. Demoman did not mind it much, as long as it worked as it was intended, hopefully. After all, what he wished was not a bad thing at all.

“You want to do that...?”

“Aye! Except that...” Demoman got closer to the mirror. He touched his temples and drew an imaginary ribbon. “...I could use a headband. A red one.”

Demo turned his face to Soldier again, with an eager smile on his face.

Soldier was tilting his head, observing through the mirror (and through his helmet as well apparently). “I see...”

“You wouldn’t mind that, wouldn’t ye?”

“No,” responded short Soldier.

“...Wait. _Reaaally?_”

“Affirmative.”

That worked way better than he expected, thought Demoman. Perhaps, too good...

“Demo.”

“Yes?”

“I like your hair.”

“_What?_”

Demoman wasn’t a man used to compliments, neither was one who took them to the heart—Unless they were adulations to his knowledge in explosives, or his ability with swords: those were obvious, and he was going to brag about them if he wanted.

However, Demo didn’t have the best self-image in the world, starting from lacking an eye. He dreamed that having a fro would help with that for a little while.

“You asked me before,” explained Soldier, interrupting Demo’s trail of thoughts and putting Demo’s feet back on planet Earth.

“Oh.” Demo cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he whispered while scratching his beard.

“Can we leave the bathroom?”

“Ye-yeah, right.” Demoman stepped away from the mirror. “Let’s go...”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks once again to my beta reader/editor!!!
> 
> p.s.: there is one (1) blatant semi-lie here


End file.
